


/look at these eyes, baby blue

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Eminem (Musician), Project Shady
Genre: Eye Sex, Foot Jobs, Gore, Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Skullfucking, Slurs, Watersports, ur probly wondering how im gonna pull all these kinks together, ya boy finds a way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: It was a long story involving a harsh corner of a table and some methamphetamine.





	/look at these eyes, baby blue

**Author's Note:**

> shady goes blind in one eye and lets ken fuck the hole. takes place around whenever relapse came out
> 
> now realizing that shady with an eyepatch is literally just kuzuryuu from dangan ronpa. guess i rly do have a type lol
> 
> anyway to anyone who follows my work and has been asking/begging for Slim and Ken to bang, i swear to god they'll have normal sex at some point but this was the best i could scrounge together with my goop brain
> 
> title is from "White America" by Eminem

"He's been driving me nuts lately."

That was the last thing spoken about Slim before the thing happened. Susan, slugging back a martini, spoke the words flatly. "Slim's been real up his own ass about the whole Eminem thing, with Marshall going on his own and all that shit. Won't shut up about it. He's been driving me nuts lately."

And it was fair enough. After all, his name was still being used and all that. Once they fell out, Slim returned to his life of violent crime with his crew, which made Ken insanely happy. All that fame stuff was keeping them apart, it kinda pissed Ken off, whenever Slim would bring home some ugly horse-faced slut to have sex with. But the situation took a toll on Slim, clearly. As proven by Ken repeatedly walking in on Slim spite-listening to old Eminem albums, brows knitted in rage.

But what happened next really did seem like a lot.

The information came from Big Naz, who was sort of Slim's self-appointed bodyguard. They knew each other from Slim's teenage years, outside of school, apparently, and Naz was always keeping Slim from getting into shit or getting killed. Of course, this time he just happened to not be present. But he had the story.

Slim left his shitty apartment at around nine, hopped up on meth. He got in a car (not his own) and sped to the venue of that night's Eminem concert. It was way in a different state, but he somehow still showed up on time. The security, however, wasn't too keen on letting the man in. Slim Shady, high as fuck and clad in only a bathrobe and slippers,  _demanded_ to get in and show his old musical partner what for. He ended up getting physical with the security guards.

He probably threw a punch or something, which gave one of the guards a chance to wrench his arm behind his back. He squirmed around and he managed to slam his head onto the corner of a nearby table. It went straight into his eye. Blood gushed everywhere. It was a real mess. Luckily, Slim had incapacitated himself for the time being, and Naz, being his only emergency contact, was called to pick him up.

"He looked a real mess. Twitchin' and bloody and shit. He fuckin' puked on me, goddamn dumbass."

Thankfully, it seemed like Slim would be okay for the most part. Marshall even proudly bailed him out for trying to break in. ("No hard feelings, dude.") However, Slim's left eye was sliced open, and blinded permanently. "You can go see him in the hospital, probably. Not sure how it's gonna get paid for. Fuckin' idiot."

So Ken and Susan headed out.

Getting into the hospital was problematic. Slim was, after all, technically an ex-celebrity, and all the doctors made damn sure there weren't any rabid fans coming in. Ken felt like the woman at the front desk was trying to play twenty questions with him, and to make matters more frustrating, she then called Slim on the receptionist's phone. She probably could've done that from the beginning. Maybe she was just stupid.

Slim looked so artfully forlorn, silhouetted by the window behind him. The white sheets hung around his body, and his long-sleeved hospital gown hid what remained. On his head, a white bandage with a faint brownish stain showing through the outside -- so faint that it was just barely noticeable. Ken wanted to stare at him forever. Susan ruined it.

"Hey, jackass. Nice job going blind."

Slim jolted for a moment, looking over and grimacing in Susan's direction.

"Susan, you should go bathe in a toilet. Because you're a piece'a shit."

Susan snorted.

"That was actually kinda good. They must've finally injected you with some good comebacks, Shady."

"Whatever." Slim returned back to gazing out the window. Something was really up with him. He looked depressed, really fucking depressed. Shifting his gaze, Ken noted the pile of tossed-aside magazines covered in semen. Each page was wrinkled like someone had poured water on them.

"You've got some explaining to do. You damn near got arrested so you could continue with whatever petty feud you and your  _old flame_ are having." Susan's tone was pointed as ever.

"Why do I need to explain myself to you? You're not my mom. And Ken sure as hell ain't my dad."

"Sometimes I wish I was." Ken mumbled. Slim's face suddenly twisted into pure anger, and he grabbed a vase and threw it hard in Ken's direction. Were it not for years of dodging bullets, Ken probably would've ended up right in the hospital next to him. 

"You fuckin' homo! Wanting to have sex with eight-year-old me, the fuck is wrong wit'you?! Get the fuck out of here, I'm done!" Slim began banging on the 'Call Nurse' button. "Nurse! Nurse! Get this faggot out my sight, c'mon!" Susan turned to Ken, mouthing 'LET'S GO' at him and grabbing his sleeve. The two left before the nurse could come and call security or something, and then sat in Ken's car in silence for awhile.

"That, uh, that was a pretty fucked-up thing to say, Kaniff." Susan muttered, after a long silence.

"He should be used to it."

"You're right, I guess." 

After all, Slim did threaten to rape Susan and/or Susan's mom at least once a week. Ironic, considering Susan's mom was as dead as they came, but corpses didn't fall outside Slim's jurisdiction whatsoever.

And dammit, Slim knew Ken wanted a piece of that ass. He'd always known, it was fucking obvious. Whenever Slim would bend over in gym class, or wear really tight pants, or get an erection in the car, Ken was on that shit. Consuming every detail, every curve and bump of his gorgeous body. Greek statues, porn actors, male models, none of them could compare to the pale heaven of Slim's flesh, very faintly covered with little dancing freckles.

Everyone and their mother knew it. You'd have to be a retard to not know it.

* * *

 

Slim was let out relatively soon, wearing a medical eyepatch and a sour expression. Susan insisted on taking him to the bar, but it only seemed to make things worse. Slim lost horribly in a game of darts. ("It's due to my fucking depth perception.") He then took one of the darts in a fit of rage and slammed it through his own hand.

For the first time, people were  _worried_ about Slim Shady. Nobody had ever bothered to worry about him. No matter what kind of awful shit happened, he just bounced back and returned within the week, ready to sling drugs and kill people. He was a dead man walking, no longer with a desire to wound the innocent, or to rape, or steal. Which most people would consider a good thing, however, it crept behind Ken everywhere he went.

So that was how he ended up at apartment number 6D, knocking on the door. Silence. He knocked again. A sort of weird guttural sound. Once more. Slim finally appeared. His skin was blotchy. He was only in his underwear, and smelled like death. Obviously he'd been crying pretty recently. Had Ken ever even seen the man cry?

"...What do you want."

"I, uh..." Ken scratched the back of his neck. "You seemed kind of down, so I thought I'd visit." He whipped out a pack of Marlboros, holding them out to Slim. "These are the kind you like, yeah?" Slim eyed the box, taking it and placing it on a nearby table. "Can I come in?" Slim nodded after a moment of thought, then walking towards the living room, motioning towards Ken. Ken followed without a second thought, shutting the door politely behind him.

The living room looked remarkably clean. Most likely, Slim hadn't been getting out of bed a whole lot. 

"Sorry, I was just puking." Slim coughed a bit, his voice slightly hoarse. "'s been a time."

"You doing alright?"

"Shit, am I ever?" Slim's tone was one of humor, but nobody laughed. "I think I just need some time to myself, maybe go on one of those soul-seeking journeys to South America as soon as I have some money... but I'll probably be a hundred years old by then."

"I'd help, but I gotta pay for my own stuff." Ken leaned his cheek on his palm. He had a real job, and was frankly much better off than Slim in every way possible. But still, he had bills to pay, and sending Slim into the cocaine continent of the world seemed like a poor choice. No doubt he'd come back with condoms full of powder lodged in his throat and force somebody to pull them out of him, assuming the rubber wouldn't melt in his gut and send him into overdose.

"I think I might have some kind of mental problem. Like one that don't involve murder."

"Depression?"

"Nah, that's faggy shit. 'Depression'. Ain't that just an excuse to not do anything?"

"I guess it could be."

"Anyway." Slim tugged the eyepatch off his face. His eye looked disgusting, white and red and full of stitches. It still twitched when he looked around. "I'm actually kinda glad you came over because, like, I was gonna ask you something."

"Uh, ask away." Considering the conversation at the hospital, Ken was prepared for the worst.

"How long you wanted to fuck me?"

Ken balked.

"Wha?"

"Listen, I don't like repeatin' myself. How long."

"I mean, probably since the moment I saw you."

"Shit, really? And you never came onto me once? Just made goo-goo eyes at my ass when I wore sweatpants? That takes commitment." Slim kicked one leg over the other, leaning back on his old couch, which was decorated with a few ratty throw pillows. "Feels like you're the only man I can trust in this sick fuckin' world even though you wanna poke holes in my ass."

"Thank you. It means a lot." Hearing Slim say anything nice about anyone was a rarity, so Ken took what he could get.

"If I let you do it, would that make you happy?" Ken choked on his own spit hearing the words. "I know, I'm super straight so hearin' me say that probably sounds like you're developin' schizophrenia. But like, seriously."

"I mean-" Ken coughed a bit. "Yeah, probably. You're..." Cough cough. "You're the unattainable, you know, like when you always say you wanna bang J-Lo."

"Shit, she is fine though."

"For that to happen, I'd probably be satisfied knowing I achieved the unthinkable. Tasting that sweet ass." Ken paused for a moment, but Slim didn't stop him like he normally would. "Like, what else is there to do? Nothing's ever gonna compare. The amount of times I thought of just dropping a roofie in your drink and taking you to town is probably uncountable at this point. I've collected all of your crossdressing photos, and they're really fuckin' sticky, if you are, uh, picking up what I'm putting down."

"I'm pickin' it up." Slim gestured towards his malformed eye. "So this thing. It's kind of ugly. Whenever I look at it in the mirror it makes me wanna kill myself, straight up."

"Is that why you haven't been coming outside?"

"Definitely a contributor, I'd say. It's like the weight of everythin' just crashes down on you, dawg. I'm basically dead, I'm a dead person." Slim stood, and then dropped to his knees. "And since I'm dead, the rules don't apply to me no more. I mean, as if they ever did. I'm just sick of thinkin' about stuff. I kinda wanna just let all that shit go for a minute."

"Yeah?"

"So fuck it outta me."

"...You're serious."

"As serious as I've ever been. I want you to take this eye out, I want you to fuck my eye socket, I want you to cum all over my brain. I don't know why, I think I'm losin' it." Tears seemed to spring to the eye that remained. It was surreal, it seemed completely fake, Slim allowing himself in a position of submission, weeping on his knees, begging for Ken to fuck him. "Am I losin' it? Have I finally fucking lost it? Does it even matter anymore? Hurry up before I change my mind."

"Uh, I dunno if it'll... fit."

"Just force it in, break bone if you have to. Who gives a shit, we're all gonna die some day."

Ken's collar was heating up. This was it, god's final frontier. The one thing he'd always wanted, but never been able to get. Was this how it felt when Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon? Just swelling, overpowering excitement and awe? He'd never been this pleased before in his life. No amount of high school football players, or male prostitutes, or little boys, could ever equal the one man he'd always wanted. And now he was here, practically begging for it.

A pair of scissors and a spoon lay cast aside on the coffee table, as if waiting to be used, and Ken grabbed them. Tentatively, he cut away the stitches, allowing the crushed remains of the eye to burgeon forward. The once baby-blue iris was now turned a pinkish-bluish-white, and the eye itself dripped fluid grotesquely. As carefully as he could, Ken dipped the spoon into the socket. Quickly it hit orbital bone, and Slim gritted his teeth, still as jagged and filthy as ever. The tip of the spoon ground against the bone, a vibration strong enough that Ken could feel it in his twitching hand. He was hard, harder than he'd ever been in his life, but he had to compose himself. After all, Marshall himself said that you only get one shot.

The eye managed to loosen enough to hang a little ways from the socket, enough that he could see the the stringy reaches of muscle and frayed optic nerve. When the blade of the scissors hit the muscle, Slim hissed, digging his fingers into the threadbare carpet below. Of course, the sinews were difficult, as they would be when simply cutting a piece of steak. Ken went to war with them, scraping the scissor's edge along the strings as if it were the bow of a violin.

Tension became too much, and slowly the optic muscles split apart, like old ropes on their last legs. The thick nerve in the center was all that remained, which allowed the globby, misshapen eye to swing back and forth, a pendulum of poor decisions. Left and right, the scissors went, carving once, twice, three times into the same incisions until it was weakened enough to simply be pulled out. Well, as it turned out the nerve was still quite attached, and took a bit of membrane from the orbital with it, attached to it like a root. There was a hole in the bottom of the opened eye socket, which was much shallower than Ken had anticipated. But now he was rock-solid and not listening to any sort of reason, even if it came from his own mind.

What remained of the eye hit a stack of magazines on the coffee table with a nasty "plap". Ken wondered if he could get a jar of formaldehyde to put it in as a commemoration of the time he banged Slim Shady.

Ken cleared his throat, not wanting to start immediately. Slim looked at Ken like he were insane, but a bit of foreplay was in order. All at once, he began to french-kiss the hole. His tongue felt around the inner wall, salty and moist. It tasted good, he held the back of Slim's head as if they were really kissing before finally parting. Slim's expression was unreadable, but clearly some level of aroused -- Ken knew a horny man when he saw one. That and the tent in his piss-stinking briefs, which he made no attempt to hide. No attempt to claim he  _wasn't gay_ , or anything like that, just the most genuine, honest existence he could allow.

Prying the lids open, the vestibule of Slim's eye socket was barely big enough to put a thumb into, but Ken had no intention of passing this by. He fished himself out of his skin-tight jeans, hanging his erection in front of Slim's face for just a moment so that he could take it all in. His expression was as dead as ever. He ran his tongue along the tip of Ken's penis without a single word, sending lightning bolts up Ken's spine.

"Like it? You nasty bitch." Ken almost purred, and Slim remained shockingly passive, using two fingers to hold his eyelids open. "You don't know how long I've wanted to fuck the shit out of you." Ken's tone was different than the docile, often effeminate pervert everyone knew. It was deeper, more aggressive, more filthy.

Ken's urethra finally tasted the holy ground. It was warm and wet, and very, very small. He couldn't even get the full tip in, but rocking violently into Slim's head managed to split apart a few of the bones blocking the way, allowing a slightly deeper entry. The bruises bloomed beautifully around his glans, Slim hissing and grunting just below. Ken gripped onto Slim's head. Dumbass didn't have enough hair for him to knot his fingers into, so instead he dug his nails into Slim's scalp. He grunted, and began to move.

In his years, Ken had had all sorts of sex, in all sorts of holes. He'd even fucked a girl once, just to see what it'd be like, and was filled with deep disgust as he did so. This wasn't nearly as good on a physical level, rolling his tip inside of the tiny entrance and having to gain a ton of pleasure from such a small space. But in principle, it was the best he'd ever had. Blood, slobber and sweat drenched the upper side of his pants and Slim's nose ran heavily. He didn't cry, rather, tears were squeezed through his eyes like he were a piping bag full of icing. Ken could feel the smooth surface of the orbital bone on his glans, rubbing against it every time he pushed further in.

His nose wrinkled when he heard a crack. The sharp points of the broken orbital poked into him.

"Ow." Slim managed to gurgle out. Ken pulled out momentarily to stick his fingers in, snapping the fragments away until it became a relatively smooth area, plus just a little bit deeper. "If you fuckin' 'round with me back there iss' gon' go way in my brain, dawg."

"God, I hope so."

Ken re-filled the hole with his own girth, managing to get just a bit of the shaft in. It wasn't very pleasurable, or even very comfortable, but somehow he'd never experienced better sex in his life, fingers digging into the skin on Slim's neck. Suddenly his hisses finally broke into loud shouts, coughing and spitting on the floor. Ken hunched over his head, slamming harder and harder inward, if only he could see Slim's remaining eye rolling back as Ken practically beat his fucking brain into submission.

Bruises swelled from around the eyelid. With one foot, Ken gently rubbed against Slim's clothed boner, feeling it twitch beneath his touch. The smaller man rutted up into his sock as if he really could fuck it. An animal, come alive from his stupor, with stains of precum decorating his underwear.

"Shit, dude..."

For once, Mr. Don't-Give-A-Fuck had nothing to say, instead snorting and grunting like a feral pig. When he moved, his eye socket wriggled around's Ken's penis, creating the strangest sensation Ken had ever experienced in that particular area. Sort of like if he were to twirl a little ring around it, like some kind of cock hula-hoop. He'd have to copyright that idea later, for sure, instead squishing his dick around in the opposite rotating direction. It was an incredibly weird and inconvenient way to fuck.

And yet, still, heat collected in Ken's groin, his toes clutching onto the tent of Slim's cock, and his hands clutching Slim's sandy-blonde scalp. He was gonna cum. He was gonna cum inside Slim's fucking skull, he was gonna cum into his eye socket and drip-feed it into his cerebrum. 

Despite having gotten only about half of the stimulation, Slim came first, right into his underwear. Ken could feel it, sticking to the bottom of his sock, and the way Slim twitched beneath him, like a strangled bird. Ken followed suit almost immediately, blowing his wad violently into the back of Slim's head. It dripped out around the switching eyelids, an image so disgusting even John Waters would wrinkle his nose at it. Ken felt pleased with the almost Baroque-era imagery he'd created. Straight from a sculpture by Bernini himself, or one of Goya's "Black Paintings", an angel, defiled and limp on the rug.

As if trying to show dominance, Ken released the grip of his urethral sphincter and took a piss in there.

It was a little difficult, getting his body to agree to urinate someplace not made of porcelain, but not too difficult. Obviously, he'd done this kind of thing before -- not in someone's eye, though. Immediately, the foreign warmth caused Slim to make a sort of gurgling sound, and orgasm once more. (Though, this one was far less impressive, as he was already relatively spent.) Finally pulling out, Ken got to see the full force of his hard work.

A gooey mixture of reds, whites and yellows spilled from the bruised hole, which swelled up almost immediately, only allowing a little bit to spill through at a time. Slim's remaining eye was red, teary and unfocused, any attempt to look Ken in the eye seemed to take a lot of effort on his part. His little nose was leaking, and bruised at the top where bone was shattered, and his mouth dripped saliva all over his lap. Body painted with a sheen of sweat, his nasty underwear clung onto him tightly. The ex-rapper peeled them off without even a first thought, let alone a second, and his penis was still at half-mast and red, head shining a bit from the low light of the window. He was a defiled mess of blood, piss, cum, sweat, and intraocular fluid, and Ken wished he had a polaroid camera to keep printed photos of him forever.

"That wasn't nearly as good as anal." Ken spoke, flatly, as if pretending he wasn't absolutely fucking ecstatic.

"Yuh." Slim blinked. "I go'a sleep now." He then fell over onto his side, limp as a dead body.

* * *

 

You'd think something like that would be a cause for alarm. Trauma, even. No, actually, it seemed to make things a lot better. Slim disappeared for about a week and then suddenly busted into the crew's regular watering hole with a plastic eye patch from a Halloween store. He sat down, ordered a bottle of straight Everclear, and slugged back about a quarter of it. Susan gave him a look of total confusion.

"The hell's up with you?"

"Hell's up with you?" Slim repeated back, the ugliest parrot in the world.

"You're suddenly not depressed."

"Depressed? I don't get depressed, baby."

"Then whatever the fuck you were doing before."

"Uh, I had sex and I'm better now."

Susan rose her brows.

"You had sex."

"Yup."

He shot Ken a wayward glance. Ken, interested in subtlety, finished off his margarita without saying anything weird.


End file.
